Boxes of Life
by smacky30
Summary: Grissom and Sara are moving.  What do the find when they start getting ready?  My entry for the Geekfiction 'I Love the 80's Ficathon'.


Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were Sara would be at home waiting for Grissom.

A/N: Thanks to Cropper, LiT and Mingsmommy for their beta work.

The padlock opened with a quiet snick and Grissom bent to grab the handle near the floor. The metal door clattered up, revealing a ten by ten space that contained row upon row of neatly stacked cardboard boxes. They lined all three walls from floor to ceiling with one row running neatly down the center of the room. There was a ladder lying on the floor against the boxes on the left. Each box was labeled. Some even bore a list of the contents and a date. Sara looked around, her mouth dropping open in amazement at the display.

"Oh. My. God." A giggle bubbled up and she turned to stare at the man next to her. "What _is_ all this?"

With a shrug and a slight dip of his head, Grissom tried to explain. "Some of it's mine and some was my mother's. It's not as bad as it looks."

"Gil, there must be a hundred boxes in here. What are we going to do with all this?"

"There are eighty-six to be exact. Ouch," he winced when she elbowed him sharply. Giving her a sidelong glance, Grissom noted the bemused smile on her face. "I thought we could go through it. There are some things I really want to keep, but the rest can go to charity or to the landfill."

Sara shook her head and took a tentative step inside. "Well, we surely can't move it all to California with us."

"At least the place is climate controlled." Grissom offered a little sheepishly.

Turning back she grinned. "I'm not going to find any dead animals in here am I?" When he shook his head, she held out her hand and said, "Come on. Let's get started."

They began with the boxes on the left, working their way from top to bottom and front to back. Old text books that hadn't seen the light of day in over twenty years were put into a pile to be taken for recycling. Box after box of old forensic journals also went into the pile. They made short work of the first twenty boxes. Sara was slowly realizing that Grissom never threw anything away.

Finally, to break the monotony, she asked, "Hey, Gris, what happened in 1983?" She was bent over tying her shoe, affording him a delightful view.

Eyes glued to her derrière, Grissom stopped to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Huh?"

Sara turned and gave him a bright smile. "You kept all these for a reason, right? So what was discovered in the year 1983 that made you want to hold on to these journals?"

"Can you be a little more specific? I'm sure a lot of things happened in 1983."

Rolling her eyes, Sara said, "Greg and Wendy would be very disappointed in you."

"Does this involve men with big hair screaming at the top of their lungs?" His blue eyes glittered with amusement. When Sara merely raised an eyebrow, he said, "Okay. If you say Greg and Wendy then I have to assume it has something to do with DNA."

Sara waited for him to continue. After a moment she said, "And?"

"And…I don't know what you're asking."

Sara laughed at the confusion on his face. "The man of a million random facts is stumped." Moving over to stand in front of him, she slid her arms around his waist. "You need a hint?"

His hands moved instinctively to her hips. "Apparently I do."

Leaning forward, her breasts pressing against his chest, Sara brought her mouth to his ear. Her tongue darted out and flicked at his ear lobe. "Polymerase…" Her teeth nipped the sensitive flesh.

Grissom shuddered. "Chain Reaction."

Pulling back, she brushed her lips over his. "Very good."

"I love it when you talk science to me," he teased as his hands tightened on her hips, pulling her close for a moment. "I would have figured it out eventually."

Her smile told him she saw that statement for what it was.

"Pick another year." Grissom said as she stepped away from him. When she shook her head, he said, "DNA was first used to catch and convict criminals in 1987. The first conviction was overturned in 1989. The first man was sentenced to death based on DNA in 1988."

Sara laughed. "But I didn't ask you about those years. I asked you about 1983."

Trying to appear chastised but failing miserably, Grissom said, "I know, but you distracted me. I had more interesting things on my mind than genetic fingerprinting."

Sara gave a snort of laughter and surveyed the stack of boxes. She shook her head in disbelief. "How are we going to get this stuff moved?"

"Nick and Jim are going to come over here with me after work tomorrow. We'll load it in their trucks and take it to Lakewood Recyclers. Warrick and Greg said they'd help so it shouldn't take us long."

"Will the recycler take the boxes too?" Sara placed both hands on her lower back and bent backward, stretching the tired muscles.

Grinning at her predictability, Grissom answered, "Yes, dear," before dodging her playful swat.

Very quickly, it seemed, they came to the boxes that Grissom had brought from his mother's. Before long, the pair was seated side by side on the concrete floor each pulling items out of a single box. It was packed tight with sketch pads of landscapes and seascapes and charcoals of a tiny Grissom with a man she assumed was his father. She studied the pair; same cleft chin, same mouth, same mischievous glint in their eyes.

"Hey, Gil," she held up the sketch pad. "Look at this."

Grissom slid over so that he could study the picture with her. "My father," he said softly.

Sara lowered the sketch pad to her lap and turned to scrutinize the man beside her. He was studiously avoiding her gaze, his eyes glued to some spot on the floor. "You never talk about him."

With a shake of his head, Grissom threw off the memories that were haunting him. "There's not much to say. I was young when he died." The sadness of his words echoed off the metal walls.

Sara's smile was sad, her gaze turned inward. "Sometimes dying is the _best_ thing they can do."

Grissom's mind flashed back to that night almost three years earlier when they had sat in Sara's apartment, her story of abuse and violence spilling out and covering him, changing everything he thought he knew about her. The memory was enough to stiffen his spine and put the fire of anger in his eyes. Still, his hand came up to rub over her back in a soothing gesture.

Reaching over she gave his knee a reassuring squeeze. She closed the sketch book. "I think these are something we should keep. Your mother had talent."

His eyes softened and he drew in a steadying breath. "Yes. She did have talent."

Seeing the love for his mother shining in Gil's eyes, Sara said, "Maybe we could pick out some of the drawings to have framed. We could hang them over the fireplace. We'd have to measure but I think nine, maybe twelve, would fit. What do you think?" Her eyes sparkled with excitement. "Same frame, same matting. They would be remarkable up there."

His answer was a soft press of his lips against her cheek. "I love you."

With a broad grin, she placed the sketch books back into the box they had just emptied.

Slowly, they made their way through the rest of the boxes. Most were filled with photo albums. There was picture after picture of Grissom from infancy through high school. Sara flipped through the pages, a soft smile playing around her lips. Her fingers ran lightly over the photos, lingering on the images that someone had cared enough to save.

The albums told a story. The first picture was of a smiling but tired Olivia Grissom holding a sleeping newborn. There were photos of them in a wheelchair, leaving the hospital. Mother and son settled in the passenger seat of a car, ready to go home for the first time. Baby Gil nestled in the arms of his father and in the arms of a woman Sara assumed was his grandmother.

She turned the page and a laugh bubbled up and out before she could stop it. Here was a picture of an infant. He was bald and his tiny face was scrunched up in anger at the bath he was being forced to endure. Sara's eyes were dancing with laughter and she had to cover her mouth with her hand.

Once again, Grissom slid closer so he could see what she was looking at. "What?"

Choking back her mirth, Sara managed to get out a few words. "Sweetheart, even as a baby you were…large."

His eyes, narrowed in confusion, were darting between her face and the picture she was pointing to. Suddenly, his eyes widened as her meaning became clear. A blush colored his cheeks. "Sara! I can't believe…I don't even know what to say."

Seeing his embarrassment, Sara only laughed harder. She managed to gasp out, "Just stating the obvious."

Grissom began to chuckle. "You, my love, have a dirty mind."

Leaning forward, Sara brushed her lips over his. "Are you complaining?"

"Nooooo, just stating the obvious."

Grissom pressed his mouth to hers in a slow, languid kiss. After a long moment she raised her hands and pushed against his shoulders.

"We…uh…need to finish this." Sara's eyes were dark with longing and her tongue darted out to run over her lower lip. "But hold that thought for later."

Sara flipped through a few more pages, smiling at the faded pictures. There was one of Olivia, younger than Sara had been when she met Grissom, holding a chubby little boy on her hip, the blue of his eyes indiscernible in the black and white photo. Here a sturdy toddler, with dark hair and a bright smile, was sitting at the top of a slide. The toddler became a little boy in a plaid shirt holding a lunchbox. The same boy in a white shirt and dark tie, his hair slicked down, a book bag hanging from his shoulders as he stood at the curb waiting for the bus. The boy became a young man, one with fierce intelligence shining in his eyes. A sad smile played over her full mouth as she closed the album and leaned over to place it in the open box.

When the box was full Grissom taped it and labeled it so that it could be picked up by the movers. The next few boxes held years' worth of canceled checks and bills that had been paid. Those two boxes joined the stacks to be taken to the recycler. Grissom unearthed his parents' marriage license in a manila envelope with his father's death certificate. His jaw tightened imperceptibly before he wound the string around the two red disks on the back and placed the envelope in a box to keep.

Sara opened the next box Grissom set down in front of her and pulled out a handful of old report cards. With a grin she turned and looked at him.

"Alexander Gilbert Grissom," she intoned. "St. Agnes Day School. November 23, 1962." When he tried to take the papers from her she held them out of his reach. "Uh-uh. I found them. I get to read them."

After a few more unsuccessful attempts to pull the cards from her hand, Grissom sat back and shrugged. "Go ahead, if you feel you must." His voice was petulant but he was smiling.

With a soft chuff of laughter, she said, "Oh, I must." Opening the one marked for first grade, Sara let her eyes skim over the grades. "What's this? You got a C?"

"Did not," he said. "Let me see that."

"Yes you did." Sara's finger tapped the stiff paper. "It's right here. Penmanship. C."

Shaking his head, a smirk playing over his features, he said, "I will not dignify that with a response."

"It's still a C, Gilbert."

"And you, my dear, are about two seconds away from a spanking."

Glancing up at him through her lashes, her cheeks turning a wonderful shade of pink, Sara asked, "Promise?"

He held her gaze for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was strained. "Just wait until we get home."

Ignoring the sharp rush of arousal brought on by the heat in his eyes, Sara set the report cards to the side and reached into the box again. She pulled out stacks of old school projects. Obviously, Olivia had saved everything Grissom had ever done.

"What do you want to do with these?" she asked, gesturing to the box full of posters and papers.

Glancing through the things in the box, Grissom shook his head, a fond smile on his face. "I can't believe she kept all this stuff." He gave a soft laugh. "I think these can go to the recycler, too. It's not like I'll ever need them."

"Are you sure? You don't think the guys would be interested in your third grade essay on 'How I Spent My Summer Vacation'?" Sara teased him and then laughed at the blush on his cheeks.

"I'm fairly certain they wouldn't be interested. I'm almost as certain that the nuns weren't interested," he said with a chuckle. "We need to go through these to make sure there's nothing in them that can't be recycled."

With a nod, Sara stood and went to the car to find a trash bag. They went through the box, pulling out pipe cleaners and sticks and copious amounts of elbow macaroni. At first Grissom was silent but, with a little prompting from Sara, he began to tell her about his school years. He tried to keep the stories lighthearted but she knew him too well. She heard the undertone of loneliness that came from being the smart kid, the nerd. Once again, she realized that she and Grissom weren't so very different in some respects.

Looking around, Sara made note of their progress. There were only ten boxes that they were keeping. The rest were divided into recyclable and charity. There was very little actually going to the landfill. And there were only five or six boxes left to go through. It was a good thing really because she was tired and sore and her butt was numb from sitting on the concrete.

When the next box was opened a smile split Grissom's face. Inside were the obligatory baby book, as well as a lock of hair and a receiving blanket. There was a tiny box labeled first tooth. There was a tiny pair of white shoes that were the only choice in toddler footwear in the 1950's. And nestled among all this was a battered metal lunchbox emblazoned with Grissom's childhood hero Roy Rogers.

"Would you look at this?" Reaching in, he pulled it out and turned it over in his hands, studying it from all angles. "This was my lunchbox in the first grade. I can't believe she kept it all this time."

Turning to look at Sara, Grissom watched as the expressions moved over her face. She had never been able to hide anything from him and today was no exception. "What's wrong?" he asked in a gentle voice.

She shrugged and a wistful smile tugged at her lips. "I just wish I had this," her voice was soft and she gestured around them at the boxes. "I wish someone had cared enough to want to remember me as a child."

"Oh, honey," Grissom reached out and took her hand.

Wiping away a tear that was sliding down her cheek, Sara gave him a watery smile. "I know that I can't change the past and I really don't want to…not any more. But sometimes I just wish I had a history, something tangible. You know?"

Grissom gave her hand a squeeze. Setting the lunchbox aside, he pushed to his feet and walked over to the last few boxes. He picked up one that was sitting on the floor in front of the others. It was unlabeled and not quite as big as its counterparts. He brought it over and placed it in front of Sara.

"Open this one." He dug a knife out of his pocket and passed it to her.

Slowly, confusion in her eyes, she reached out and took the knife. After slitting the tape, Sara opened the flap on the box and peered inside. With trembling hands she reached in and pulled out a stack of papers. "Oh," she whispered. A soft smile lit her face through the tears. "Oh, Gil, you saved them?"

Grissom nodded. "Every single one."

Her fingers trembled as she looked through the stack of papers. Every email she had ever sent him was in the box. Every letter, even the postcards, everything was here. In the bottom she found the agenda from the Forensic Academy Conference. Flipping it over she saw her name and address, phone numbers and email address.

"Wow," she murmured. "I wonder if I could have been more obvious."

With a quiet laugh, Grissom said, "Probably not." When she turned to glare at him, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "But I wasn't the smartest guy when it came to…things like that." Sara's chuckle warmed him, and he knew he would do anything to hear that sound every day.

Grissom's voice was warm and his eyes shone with a love she had never thought to know. "Sara, do you know why I kept those?"

Her eyes, when they met his, were sparkling. She gave a barely perceptible shake of her head; afraid to speak, afraid she would break the spell that his words were weaving.

Holding her gaze, he said, "Because I have loved you from the moment I met you. Because I never wanted to forget one moment…one conversation…one glance." His finger traced her jaw and he marveled at the silkiness of her skin. "I put them in that box and stored them here on the day after our first date because that girl was my past and I wanted to remember her. But I was determined to make a future with the woman you had become."

"And you have…we have."

"We have indeed." Grissom reached out and placed a hand over the curve of her stomach.

Placing her hand over his, Sara said, "Let's get this finished and get home. I think you made me a promise earlier and I intend to hold you to it."

According to Wikipedia, PCR was discovered in 1983 by Dr. Kary Mullis. In case anyone is interested, here's a link to the article. http://en. Also, the article about genetic fingerprinting (since the two go hand in hand). http://en.


End file.
